


Man, Interrupted

by piratekelly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1, Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, spoilers for anything up to 3x18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:21:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piratekelly/pseuds/piratekelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or: 5 Times Derek Tried to Get Off (And the One Time He Did)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man, Interrupted

**Author's Note:**

> So a friend and I were having a conversation about masturbation the other day and I decided that Derek's eternal grumpiness could be directly attributed to sexual frustration, and then this happened.
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely Meagan, who remains the wind beneath my wings.
> 
> P.S. Don't post any of my fic to Goodreads.

Derek has been back in Beacon Hills for four months now, and in that time has fought more nemeton-related evils than he thought were actually possible, helped any member of the pack who wanted help on college applications, furnished the apartment and sought gainful employment. In that time he has also been exhausted, frustrated, and beaten and bloodied more than he’d like. To say he’s been busy would be an understatement, so he’s not surprised when no one seems shocked at his outburst during the last pack meeting and his subsequent mad dash to South America to spend a week with Cora.

It’s relaxing, sunny and breezy and ten shades of wonderful, and Derek has to admit that this is one of his more successful poorly thought out decisions.

The only problem is that he never really has any time to himself, which was kind of the entire point of coming all the way down here. Cora’s pack is more than happy to live practically on top of each other, so Derek has a hard time finding enough privacy for a special kind of alone time, which is horrible on a number of levels, since Derek hasn’t had any time to himself in weeks.

You see, since his therapist had finally gotten through to him and taught him that sex could be a good and enjoyable thing, Derek loves to get off. He loves it fast and hard, slow and sweaty, and every level of self-love in between. Now that he’s unable to do so, he’s all the more desperate, so he keeps himself busy doing other things. He spends most of his time reading books on the beach and catching up with Cora. It’s nice, feeling like he has a real family again, and when he gets on the plane at the end of his trip he feels her absence like a hole in his chest, but comforts himself with the knowledge that at least she’s still alive to fill it.

He’ll be even more comfortable once he gets home to his quiet, and very empty, loft.

**1\. Scott**

He’s been home for all of thirty minutes the first time it happens.

He’s exhausted, hungry and in desperate need of a thorough and steaming hot shower, but he only has enough energy to shut the loft door before dropping his bag on the floor and collapsing on the couch.

It takes about five minutes for Derek to realize that he’s too tired to actually sleep, so he stares at the ceiling and thinks about South America and Cora’s pack and the beta he’d been kind of flirting with, now that he’s thinking about maybe trying for a real relationship. Eli had been cute, angular features and a lithe, but deceptively strong body drawing Derek in almost instantly (he refuses to acknowledge the similarities between Eli and someone else he knows) but there hadn’t been much else to keep him around once they’d started talking. Nothing had come of it, but Derek can feel the stirring of arousal in his groin when he thinks of what could have happened.

He thinks of humid nights on the beach, sweat sticky skin and the sounds of the sea rushing in and out, heavy breaths flitting across skin and the aching need to touch. Derek palms himself, just hard enough to feel the slight interest beneath the denim of his jeans, breath catching at the spark of pleasure zinging up his spine. 

He’s just starting to add a little more pressure when the loft door opens.

“–and then he just… Derek?”

Derek groans, burying his face in his hands.

“What are you doing here?”

“I live here, Scott.”

“But you’re not supposed to be… _Oh_.”

He can feel the heat rising in his cheeks. “Yeah, Scott.”

“I should…”

“Yeah,” Derek deadpans. “Yeah, you should.”

“I’m just gonna –“

“ _Get out, Scott_.”

Scott makes a hasty retreat, sneakers squeaking on the hard wood floor. The loft door shuts and he’s halfway down the hall before he can even finish telling Derek that he’s glad he’s back.

Derek likes Scott. Derek very nearly considers Scott the closest thing he’s had to a brother since, well, his actual brother, but Derek really likes getting off a lot more than he likes Scott right now.

Resigned to another night of sexual frustration, Derek just gets off the couch and goes to bed. 

**2\. Isaac**

It’s eight in the morning and Derek wakes up with the low hum of arousal under his skin. If it were any other morning he’d probably just deal with it right then and there, but Derek really wants to take a shower, so he makes the executive decision to get the awkward boner hobble out of the way in favor of relaxing in the steam of a hot shower.

It’s a matter of minutes before his hands start wandering, up and over the slippery skin of his chest, water flowing over the muscles of his abs, and Derek is very happy that he decided to bite the bullet and get out of bed because this is going to be a great way to start the day. 

The shower is his favorite place to rub one out, so it doesn’t take much inspiration to get him going. Quick fire images flash through his mind, pictures of creamy skin dotted with freckles, of a mouth that could do so many things that would make anyone weak in the knees, and Derek gently bites his bottom lip, humming to himself. His right hand starts making its way south, and it’s so close to reaching its destination…

So the second time it happens he’s in the shower and at least this time he managed to make actual skin-to-skin contact before being rudely interrupted by Isaac barging in the front door.

They’d made plans for the day – Derek’s attempt at making up for the shitty way he’d treated Isaac back when he’d still been an alpha, and they’ve both come to look forward to the time where they hang out with just each other – so he’d been expecting Isaac at some point, but Derek had been so close that he might actually cry. 

There is absolutely no logical reason as to why Isaac is two hours early.

“Derek?”

He leans forward, resting his head against the cool shower tiles, both arms hanging limp at his sides. “Yes, Isaac?”

“You about ready? If we’re going to make it to San Fran by noon we have to get on the road soon.”

Derek wants to yell, wants to tell Isaac that he’s too damn early and that Derek just wants fifteen minutes of peace and quiet with himself before taking on another day, but Isaac still doesn’t react well to random bursts of anger, so what comes out is a gruff “fifteen minutes, Isaac” as he reaches for the shampoo.

When Derek turns off the shower, he absolutely does not rip off the shower handle in his frustration.

 _He doesn’t_.

**3\. Allison**

Since Derek can’t seem to get any privacy at home, he decides to take the Camaro out for a drive through the woods. There haven’t been any other wolves in the area for months, and since the darach sacrifices remain (officially) unsolved, no one’s really bothered to walk the trails for fear of being murdered, so Derek honestly thinks he’s going to find enough privacy to rub one out to at least take the edge off.

He manages to get his pants undone before someone knocks on the window. He recognizes the scent almost immediately.

“This is not happening,” he groans. He buttons up, rolls down the window, and is met with Allison’s smiling face.

“Hey, Derek.”

“Hi.”

Allison’s smile fades slightly. “Sorry to interrupt. I was out here practicing with the new crossbow dad got me when I saw your car and thought you might want to do some training? Dad taught me a few new defensive moves and I’d like to try them out against a werewolf.”

Derek wishes he could feel bad for being less welcoming. Allison’s really tried to move past the bad blood between them, and Derek’s been trying too, and as a result they’ve been working together to make the pack a more well-rounded group of fighters, but he’s grumpy and he just wants to _get off_ and he wishes more than anything that he had the wherewithal to come up with a perfectly nice reason to make her go away.

He must give something away, though, because Allison’s smile slowly turns into a look of complete and unwanted understanding. “ _Oh_.”

Derek groans, throwing his head back against the seat.

“I’m just gonna –“

Defeated, he waves a hand at her. He listens long enough to be sure that she’s long gone before punching the steering wheel a few times, violently turning the key in the ignition, and pulling back on to the road. On the ride back to the loft, he tries to console himself with the knowledge that it could have been the Sheriff and he could be getting booked for public indecency.

It doesn’t help.

**4\. Jackson**

The fourth time takes him completely by surprise, and ends as quickly as it began.

Derek had been reading on the couch when the realization that he was well and truly alone (Scott and Stiles are camping for the weekend, Lydia and Allison are out doing whatever it is they do, and Isaac is spending some time with the Sheriff because he really needed a father figure that wouldn’t beat him up) hits him.

Seconds after he gets his hand under the waistband of his shorts, Jackson Whittemore of all people walks into the loft. 

Jackson stares at Derek.

Derek stares at Jackson.

“Lydia gave me your address.”

Derek continues to stare.

“I’m going to leave and pretend this never happened.”

“That would be good.”

The door closes, but Jackson isn’t even halfway down the hall when Derek hears him mutter something along the lines of: _I can’t believe I came back to this bullshit_.

Derek thinks they might have something in common after all.

**5\. Lydia**

It’s a Friday night, the pack are at some post-graduation party in the middle of nowhere on the opposite side of town, and Derek’s in bed, naked, covers tossed aside, and he’s cherishing the silence filling his apartment. 

Earlier in the night he and the pack had fought off an omega that just refused to stay away, and Derek remembers the way Stiles had slowly looked him up and down, taking in Derek’s exposed chest and subtly licking his lips. But what Derek remembers best is the way Stiles’ eyes darkened, the scent of his arousal just heavy enough for Derek to be able to commit it to memory for later use.

And use it he does.

Derek decides to err on the side of caution and not waste any time, so he bypasses all of his favorite spots in favor of his hand heading straight South, and when he finally gets a hand around himself, he wants to fist pump his success with the other. He’s really starting to get in to it, wrapped up in the memory of Stiles’ scent, so naturally, that’s when his bedroom door flies open.

Now, don’t get him wrong; Derek likes Lydia. If he’s being honest, he likes Lydia a lot. He likes her tenacity, her fierce protectiveness over those she loves, the scary ability to focus in even the most chaotic of situations, but most of all, he likes that nothing ever fazes her.

On the flip side, the thing he hates the most about Lydia is that _absolutely nothing fazes her_.

So when she barges directly into his bedroom when he has his hand wrapped around his dick (the sweet, sweet tang of progress has quickly devolved into the wretched stench of defeat), she merely blinks, looks at Derek’s face, and proceeds to tear him a new one for shutting off his phone when there’s yet another emergency to be taken care of. 

“Put on some pants and get the fuck in my car, Derek Hale, or so help me, you’ll need someone to reattach your hand after I’m through with you.”

Derek may or may not rip his underwear in his frustration. He spends the entire drive to the preserve silently fuming.

They’d been the last pair without holes.

**+1**

At the rate the pack keeps walking in on him, Derek thinks that they’d eventually learn their lesson and just stay away, but he’s very wrong. No matter what Derek does, no matter how often he assures himself that any member of his pack will be out of town or busy with finals or researching to fill in the holes in the beastiary, no matter how much he tries to prepare to give himself time, it just. _keeps. happening_.

It’s been six weeks since the first incident with Scott, and if Derek goes an entire week without being caught with his pants down he’s genuinely surprised. Seriously. It’s been a month and he still can’t look Melissa in the eye.

He trusts his pack with his life, but they never leave the loft long enough for him to get any time to himself, coming and going as if it were their home, and Derek is _frustrated_. So when he wakes up one lazy morning with the sunlight streaming through the window, he throws the covers on the floor and decides that the only fuck he has left to give is the one he’s been trying to give himself.

He strips completely, and despite the fall chill in the air it doesn’t take long for the direct sunlight to warm his skin. He goes slowly, one hand resting on the inside of his thigh, the other brushing lightly over the skin of his chest, circling around but never touching his most sensitive areas. If he’s going to commit to doing this, he’s going to take his damn time and enjoy it.

That he gets hard so fast doesn’t really surprise him; he’s lightheaded, floating as his arousal really starts to work its way through his body, as sweat slowly starting to bead on his forehead and his heart starts to race. It feels so good to just lie there, totally exposed, and really appreciate the build up. He’s turning himself into a writhing, whimpering mess, biting down on one hand to hold back a moan as the other finally wraps around his cock, now flushed a deep red and aching so wonderfully.

He wants to make this last longer, wants to draw it out until he just can’t take it anymore, but it’s been so long and he needs it so bad, can feel the telltale tingle of orgasm building low in his gut, the warmth of it beginning to spread until he’s shaking with the need to let go. He’s so close, the closest he’s managed to get in months, so of course that’s when someone walks in.

Derek hears a gasp that could only belong to Stiles, and Derek wishes he could stop, he really does, because no matter how much he wants Stiles, he’d at least wanted to _talk_ to him before they actually did anything. But Derek told himself he was going to get off today, is hell-bent on it, and he accidentally walked in on Stiles that one time so it’s only fair that Stiles suffers the indignity of walking in on a man in his private time. He figures Stiles will leave at some point, out of embarrassment or in the interest of self-preservation, but after a few moments Stiles doesn’t leave and Derek really doesn’t mind.

After a minute Stiles steps closer, slowly, hesitantly, and Derek can smell the arousal coming off of him, the scent of burnt sugar and something so incredibly Stiles filling the air, and it just works Derek up further. He can hear Stiles’ heavy breaths, and Derek really wants to feel that on his neck, so he opens his eyes as much as he can when he feels this good, and rests the hand not currently wrapped around his cock on the bed, a subtle invitation he hopes Stiles will accept. Stiles visibly startles, looking at Derek until he sees something that seems to assure him that moving closer is okay and complies, sitting down next to Derek’s head, close enough that Derek can feel the warmth radiating from his body, and Derek closes the distance between them and rests his head on Stiles’ thigh.

Stiles still seems uncertain of his position in all of this, but Derek knows that Stiles won’t touch him without his consent, and that does things to Derek that he’ll think about later when he doesn’t have Stiles in his bed. Stiles seems to understand that Derek doesn’t need him to participate but to just be there, so Stiles threads their fingers together and puts his other hand in Derek’s hair, alternating between massaging his scalp and gently pulling on his hair, and Derek goes breathless.

It’s so good, so good to just get a hand on himself, but it’s getting to be too rough, too much friction, so he offers his hand to Stiles. Stiles kisses the center of his palm before reaching for the lube on the nightstand. Derek whimpers, and Stiles seems to realize that Derek wants _him_ to wet his palm, that Derek wants Stiles’ taste on his hand when he comes, and Derek can feel Stiles holding himself back as he does his best to help Derek, lapping his tongue over Derek’s palm and up his fingers, swallowing one down to the second knuckle, then another, and Derek has to pull away before he does something he’s not sure Stiles is ready for.

Derek gets back to business, firm grip moving faster and faster, driven by the strong scent of Stiles all around him. He’s waited so long for this, never thought he’d get to have Stiles like this at all, and he wants more, wants all of Stiles, so he tilts his head back. Either Stiles wants it just as bad or he’s that good at reading Derek, because between one breath and the next he has Stiles’ lips on his and it takes seconds before he goes off, his entire body convulsing so hard with the power of his orgasm that Stiles has to bring their still tangled hands to the center of his chest to keep him from falling off the bed.

He hears Stiles breathe out a quiet _“jesus”_ before he feels the thigh under his head clench and release, body shuddering through his own release, and the thought that Stiles can get off on watching Derek get off has Derek desperately wishing that his refractory period was a lot shorter because he wants his mouth all over that lithe body right now.

The room is silent apart from their heavy breathing,

Derek feels light, floaty in a way that he’s missed since he started getting cock blocked by his packmates, so naturally that’s when Stiles decides to start talking.

“So,” he mumbles. “Was this me catching you in a moment of weakness and you’re going to tell me to forget it ever happened, or was this a carefully planned seduction as a result of you finally giving in to your desire to touch my hot young body? Because what I do next really depends on your answer.”

Derek groans, burying his face in the denim of Stiles’ jeans. “Can’t you just enjoy the afterglow?”

“Not when I’m this uncertain as to where it’s going to lead, no.”

He pulls on the hand still clasped in Stiles’, keeps tugging until Stiles gets with the program and scoots down to lay next to him. It isn’t until then that Derek realizes that Stiles is still fully clothed, and that really shouldn’t work for him, but it definitely does. Derek rolls on to his side, one arm propping up his head as he takes in Stiles’ disheveled appearance, and grins.

“What would you say if I propose that we order pizza, watch a movie, call it a first date, maybe have a repeat performance of what just happened, and see what happens from there?”

Stiles huffs out a laugh, but he grins back. “I’d say that it warrants further discussion, but as a general outline, it isn’t so bad.”

He’s not sure who moves first, but Stiles is suddenly doing really incredible things with his tongue so he doesn’t really care. When Stiles pulls away sometime later, panting, lips puffy and red, Derek absolutely does not whimper. He doesn’t. He does, however, roll himself onto his back and pull Stiles on top of him. Derek smiles softly when Stiles settles almost instantly, hair tickling Derek’s chin as Derek smooths one arm up and down Stiles’ spine. He’s content to stay there, Stiles’ comforting weight on his chest, relaxing in the late morning sunlight, and it seems Stiles is too, since he falls asleep almost instantly. It doesn’t take long for Derek to follow.

\--

They do eventually get pizza and start a movie. They get through twenty minutes of _Iron Man_ before they start making out, and another fifteen before they move things to the bed.

No one interrupts.


End file.
